Chronicle One:  The Last Moments Of Innocence
by Aussie Nightwriter
Summary: Story Complete:  A dreadful tragedy is repeated bringing together two orphans and setting in motion a journey that will change both of their lives forever. My interpretation of Bruce and Dick's early years. The first story in what will be a series.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: _ Sadly, Dick Grayson isn't owned by me. DC has that privilege. DC owns all of the characters in this story. All I own is the distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations. (g) No money is being made from this. Please don't sue. It wouldn't be worth your while.

_Thank you:_ All who have supported me in the past. Special thanks to Beth for betaing and for her honest and sometimes challenging comments. I'm very much in your debt, Beth. And also Teri H, for not letting me give up on my writing.

Please note_: I do write with an Aussie accent. wink_

**Author note:** _Dick Grayson Genesis Series._

_I want to tell Dick's origins... the beginning of his journey with Bruce. I want to stress from the beginning, this is my interpretation. It is_ not _cannon. The story has been told and revised a dozen times officially in comics. Every time there is a Crisis series things change. Originally Dick was eight when Bruce took him in. I think this is essential to the establishment of their relationship. He grew to view Bruce as a father... not just his mentor and guardian. One of DC's versions had Dick as old as fourteen when his parents die. It changes everything. A fourteen year old child doesn't bond with others in the same way an eight year old does. I was really pleased to see the new "Young Justice" cartoon uses the original version stating that Dick was about eight... but I digress._

My Dick Grayson Genesis Series is my interpretation of what happened and why. It is how I see the characters. You may agree, or disagree. It may follow what you know as cannon or deviate from it. That is the fun of fanficiton.

From what I've been able to find, Mary and John Grayson are pretty much just names in the comics. We know so little about them. Just that they died. Often they occupy one panel in a comic book... a single image showing them falling. That's it. (Or maybe I just haven't read enough and missed a comic that gives them more time) I want to flesh them out so we know who Dick is. Pop Haly is another name that is little more than mentioned in the comics I've read. I've tried to make him a real person. The other characters are well represented in comics - Alfred, Vicki Vale, Commissioner Gordon etc.

Dick Grayson Genesis Series

Chronicle One:

_**The Last Moments of Innocence**_

_Part 1_

Alfred checked his immaculate appearance in the mirror. With annoyance, he noted a little more grey at his temples. Time respected no man. Then again, he'd every one of those grey hairs.

The tall, finely built but active fifty-year-old straightened his tie, ran his fastidious eye across his dresser before slipping his watch on and heading out the door of his fourth floor room. There wouldn't be too many men in his position with 'digs' like his.

His 'room' was not unlike a $10 000 suite found at the top hotels in the world. Unusual for a butler, but then, there weren't too many houses in the world like Wayne Manor. Built five centuries earlier when Gotham City was a fledging community of pioneers, the mansion was four storeys high with a total of two hundred and forty-four rooms, including a ballroom, library, music room, cinema and conservatory to name just a few. Almost every President of the United States and many international leaders, film stars and celebrities had stayed here for at one time or other.

There had been a time when the Manor grounds had been two hundred acres of manicured gardens. Now, only the house yard was maintained, the rest left to nature... a little like the house itself. The four wings extending from the central part of the home had been locked up for thirteen years. Still, the central section of the mansion was quite enough to look after.

Alfred started down the grand staircase – grand was the only adjective to do it justice. It swept from the fourth to first floor, each stair wide enough for fifteen people to stand shoulder to shoulder. The staircase was visible from the huge entry and enormous family room and had landings off it on each floor leading to all wings of the house as well as the rooms located centrally.

The central part of the third floor housed the eight grandest bedrooms which a few centuries ago had once been fully occupied by the Wayne family... before the dreadful plague had practically wiped out the entire line. Most Gotham families had suffered the same fate during that period.

Before the plague, the large Wayne family had housed their invited guests in one or more of the wings. When parties had been held all two hundred of the guests would stay. In those days, there had been a staff of sixty. Now there was just Alfred.

Now...one lone bedroom on the third floor was occupied by the only surviving member of the direct family. Despite dashing good looks, high intelligence, athletic prowess and a billion dollar bank account, twenty-five year old Bruce Waybe was a man who never truly smiled. But then, that was understandable. The young man had witnessed his parent's callous murder at the tender age of twelve. With no other family, he'd ended up a ward of the state. '_The poor little rich boy who everyone wanted to be nice to because he was heir to the largest family fortune in the country but who nobody truly gave a damn about_'. That was how Bruce described his childhood after the death of his parents.

On the day of Bruce's eighteen birthday, the moment he was legally an adult, he had moved back into his family home and employed Alfred as butler... maid, cook, gardener, personal assistant, medic, confidant and so much more. A one man jack-of-all-trades. It wasn't easy, but Alfred had never enjoyed a job more. It was a privilege to serve Bruce Wayne.

Alfred paused to study the painting of Bruce's parents, Dr. Thomas and Martha Wayne. It stood a full twelve feet high, the figures painted in an overwhelming 2:1 scale. The bottom of the frame was ten foot off the ground forcing those on the first floor to tip their head back a full forty-five degrees to view the top of it.

The commanding piece was the focal point of the entire home. Bruce's mother had had it painted for their tenth wedding anniversary but she had made the ornate and somewhat ostentatious frame herself. Sadly, woodwork clearly hadn't been one of her gifts. The glue on the frame was dissolving causing the rosewood timber to bow and separate and the painting itself was in desperate need of maintenance.

Alfred had made the mistake of suggesting professional cleaning and reframing in the first weeks he'd worked for Bruce. His employer wouldn't even entertain the suggestion and had become uncharacteristically hostile when Alfred and gently pushed the point.

Alfred shook his head sadly. In many ways, it would probably be better for Bruce if the painting was taken down. It hung there as a constant reminder of the worst night of Bruce's life... when his beloved parents had been gunned down. The larger than life painting looked down on everyone who entered the house. Or more correctly, anyone who entered the house was forced to look up to them.

While Alfred understood why Bruce had elevated his mum and dad onto an insurmountable pedestal, the butler worried about the way Bruce revered the painting itself.

Six years earlier, Alfred had brought painters in to repaint the badly neglected internal walls. One of the workers had made the mistake of laying his fingers on the painting to take it down so the walls could be painted. Bruce had launched himself at the ladder, causing the tradesman to lose his balance and fall. The result – a broken arm and two broken legs. Thankfully the painter was happy to take Alfred's offer of $100 000 compensation and didn't press charges.

Two years earlier, the fire alarm had gone off in the house due to a small fire in the kitchen. Bruce had actually knocked Alfred out of the way in a frantic panic to save the panting. It was clear to Alfred his employer would have taken the painting outside and allowed Alfred to burn to a crisp. Thankfully, the sprinkler in the kitchen put the fire out with no damage to any other room.

Alfred shook his head again. He hated the painting, which was ridiculous because hate was a waste of energy and the painting was in an inanimate object. But this object was crippling the young man Alfred was very fond of.

'_My parents are not to be touched by anyone.' _ That was what Bruce had once said to Alfred. 'His parents'. For some unfathomable reason this painting had become sacred to Bruce... a sacrosanct shine and representation of his father and mother that was large, bold and impossible to compete with.

It simply wasn't healthy.

OOOOO

Vicki Vale checked her digital recorder as Bruce Wayne's secretary let the head of Wayne Enterprises know she had arrived for her appointment.

The Gotham Mail reporter knew she had been fortunate to score this interview. Bruce Wayne was the single most popular topic in Gotham City. One of the top five Tweets, in the country. It wasn't difficult to understand why. Bruce Thomas Wayne was young, handsome, unattached and richer than some countries. Not that Vicki was in the market for a relationship, but this interview could be a stepping stone in her career.

She'd met Bruce Wayne once at a fundraising function and they'd spoken briefly. Vicki had found Wayne intriguing. On one hand he handled the crowds and the attention with the ease of a Hollywood star and on the other, when the cameras were off him, he'd been quiet, accomplished at making small talk but distracted. If Vicki hadn't known' better she'd have said he was totally disinterested in all of the women unashamedly throwing themselves at him. There had been a moment when she'd considered he may be gay and had in fact published an article hinting at it, but she'd never truly believed it herself. Her woman's intuition told her he was straight.

"Ms Vale. Mr Wayne will see you now."

Vicki nodded politely and entered the large office. Her first impression was mild surprise. She had expected something more lavish and decadent, but the room, while spacious, was functional.

6'2 of handsome was already standing. He smiled... white teeth, incredible blue eyes, perfect dark hair. _Down Vicki, girl. You're writing an article on his company not doing research for a cheap romance novel. _ "Mr. Wayne."

"Ms Vale. And it is Bruce, please."

Vicki accepted his handshake... strong, firm, authoritative. Her father had always told her you could tell a lot about a man from his handshake. "Alright, and it is Vicki."

He released her hand and directed her to one of two chairs on either side of a small magazine table. "Tea, coffee or water?"

Her expression must have showed surprise because he winked. "A bit early for something stronger."

Vicki smiled. She liked him. She liked him very much.

Immediately she checked her reaction. To get anywhere in this business you had to be cold, hard and leave personal feelings at the door. Her father had taught her that. Following his advice had got her this far. She had learned quickly that there was no place for a conscience in her line of work. Everyone and everything was fair game because the public had a right to know. "I'm fine for now."

"So you want to know about the Wayne Foundation we launched last week?"

"Yes. You don't mind if I record this interview?"

Bruce waved his hand casually. "No problem."

"The Wayne Foundation. There was no press release about it. Normally a company would be clamouring to tell the world of their charity work, but there hasn't been a peep in the press about this new organisation. Why?"

Bruce sat back in his chair. "The point of the Wayne Foundation isn't to impress people, it is to help those in need... and those in need don't care about my company reputation."

"So give me a little information about it," Vicki prompted.

"Wayne Enterprises has always been involved in the community but we wanted to formalize and expand what we're doing. The Wayne Foundation is our way of doing that."

"So what exactly..."

"What are we working on?" Bruce smiled. "There are a couple of things. First, we're building a home for misplaced children. One that doesn't look like it came out of the novel 'Oliver Twist', which of course was how it was when I spent time in an orphanage."

He worked his angles well, Vicki mused. Very accomplished. Bruce Wayne truly knew how to manage an interview.

"This project is close to my heart. The children need their own space and they need people working with them who actually give a damn."

Vicki was taken back. The passion in his voice was genuine.

"With the current economic crisis, families are hurting and there simply aren't enough foster families around. So, this new facility will provide a home... rather than a prison... for one hundred orphans and other misplaced children."

"And what will this place be called?"

"The Martha Wayne Home for Children... in honour of my mother. The facility should be completed by March. Wayne Enterprises has employed builders, carpenters and other tradesman who have been out of work."

"That's incredible. So many building projects are going to foreign companies and they are bringing in cheap labour."

"It is a drop in the bucket in light of what Gotham needs. Wayne Enterprises, like all large corporations, has a responsibility to employ Gothamites. We've done the same thing with our Re-homing project. The Foundation has purchased a number of derelict buildings filled with squatters. We've temporarily placed the squatters into motels while the buildings are made habitable, again employing out-of- work tradesman. Once complete, the squatters will be moved back and asked to pay what they can in rent."

"What they can? You mean it is up to them to decide how much they pay?"

"Yes."

"That is very generous but surely people will simply take advantage."

Bruce pursed his lips. "Some might, but most homeless people have a strong sense of dignity. They don't want charity. They just need a helping hand to get back on their feet. As they do, they can pay more."

Vicki exhaled. "I hope it works."

"Sometimes you have to have faith in human nature. By the way, I'm not saying my faith is any stronger than anyone else's, but I have the money to give it a go." He smiled again.

Vick was impressed and she didn't impress easily. "So two major projects."

"There are several others. We are opening two free medical clinics so that those in need can receive free treatment or contribute what they can. Also four soup kitchens, two drug rehabilitation clinics and a training programme to re-skill those out of work."

"That's.. that's quite incredible."

"It's a start. Do you have any questions?"

"Are you personally running the Foundation?"

Bruce winked at her. "I'd like to say yes, but no. However, I'm on the board and I admit I've taken a particular interest in the orphanage."

"Of course. Mr. Wayne..."

He pointed at her in a playful scolding manner.

"... Bruce," she corrected. "According to my sources you have been seeing Antoinette Nobel, the daughter of millionaire Ashton Nobel who owns the Speedy Cash Supermarket chain."

"Yes, Net and I have been spending some time together. She's witty, intelligent, not hard on the eye," he chuckled. "And we share a number of things in common. A love of sailing and flying and a common dislike of the media."

Vicki smirked. "Are you baiting me or flirting with me?"

"Both," Bruce laughed.

"So, will we be seeing you and Ms Nobel on the social circuit?"

Bruce shrugged. "Perhaps. At the moment, we are just friends. We both grew up in the media spotlight and actually enjoy time away from it."

"Fair enough. I have one more question."

"About the Wayne Foundation?"

"No."

"Okay, now I'm worried." Bruce crossed his arms across his chest. "What do you want to know, Vicki?"

"Well, you are the most eligible bachelor on the planet and..."

"And no one has snared me which means I must be gay." Vicki froze.

Bruce laughed easily. "My butler read your article and told me that is now the latest rumour."

"I didn't actually say..."

Bruce held up his hand, showing he wasn't in the least bit concerned. "Ms Vale, the reason no one has 'snared' me is because I'm not an animal to be captured, nor a prize to be won. As for being gay, I have many male and female friends but I assure you, when the time comes I will be looking for a _Miss_ Right... not a _Mr_. Right."

"Actually, that wasn't my question. I was wondering why we rarely see you out on the town after dark? You're not a vampire are you?" She watched as his expression changed. He broke eye contact, sat for another heartbeat, then rose abruptly and strode toward the window where he stopped, staring out over the gardens.

Vicki sat totally still. Her reporter's instincts were screaming. She'd really hit a nerve. There was definitely a story here. And yet, quite out of character, her personal feelings were encroaching and she found herself feeling terrified she'd put her foot in it. "Bruce, I didn't mean to...I'm sorry. Did I say something to offend you?"

He didn't respond, but continued to stare out the window.

Vicki rose awkwardly. "I should probably go."

"I suffer from panic attacks." The admission was very soft.

"Panic attacks?"

"Triggered by being outside at night. My parents... the night they died, we'd been to the movies to see 'Zorro'... my choice. It finished at 8:27pm. The street lamp on the corner was smashed. Because it was raining we decided to take a short cut to the car by cutting through the alley. It was so dark and..." His voice was barely above a whisper by the time he finished. Bruce licked his lips and then dropped his gaze to the carpet.

Vicki approached him and gently placed her hand on his arm. Her heart bled for him - her reporter's instincts and the rules she prided herself on, defeated by her attraction to him. "Bruce, I'm so very sorry. I shouldn't have..."

He lifted his gaze. "No. It's okay. The panic attacks are irrational. I'm fine while I'm at a function but then I have to walk to the car and usually that involves entering the darkness of a parking lot or street. It all closes in on me. I start shaking and... So, I avoid evening functions as much as possible. It's fine in summer because the sun doesn't go down until quite late. But in winter..."

"I had no idea."

Bruce reached up and patted her hand before moving away from her. "At the moment I'm working on attending one evening event a week. My therapist says it is important for me to face my fears."

Vicki watched as he moved to the middle of the room and turned to face her. He seemed to be back in control, the vulnerability gone.

"I hope what we've just discussed won't appear on the front page of the Gotham Mail tomorrow. I haven't actually told anyone else before."

Vicki shook her head vigorously. "No. No of course not. I..." She stopped the digital recorder. "I would never print that, Bruce."

"Thank you. I appreciate that. I..." He was interrupted by the buzzer on his desk. "Excuse me." He reached over and pushed a button. "Yes, Sally?"

"Captain Gordon of the Gotham City Police is here to speak with you, Sir. Do you have a few moments?"

"Yes, of course." Surprise blanketed his face. "Just give me a moment." Bruce glanced at Vicki. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid we'll have to continue this at another time. May I suggest lunch tomorrow at Alexanders? Say, 12:30?"

Vicki felt her face flush. "Y...yes," she stuttered. "That would be lovely."

He smiled and ushered her toward the door. "I look forward to it, but no voice recorder this time."

She nodded, stepped outside and felt such a fool. She'd acted like a giddy school girl. She never did that. Never! She had worked hard to get her position on the paper and had never allowed anyone to get below her defences. A story about Bruce Wayne suffering panic attacks would probably get her on the front page of every paper and magazine in the country. It was her big break.

Vicki's heart pounded in her chest. It was her way to get out of a small paper like the Gotham Mail and into one of the large Gotham papers... or even one of the national papers.

Her dream ended mid thought as she remembered how vulnerable he'd looked... and how he'd asked her to lunch. Besides, she'd told him she wouldn't print it.

"Damn," she muttered. "I've gone and grown a conscience."

OOOOO

Bruce closed the door behind the reporter and exhaled long and slowly, the smile falling from his face. His entire demure changed. His brow furrowed deeply and he cursed under his breath.

Only fast thinking had saved him. Vicki Vale was a smart woman and she'd almost caught him off-guard. He had no excuse either. Alfred had raised concerns about the fact Batman was only seen at night and Bruce never was. Bruce had responded with something like, 'no one will notice'. But someone had. Someone with the means to make things very difficult.

"I really need to take more _notice_ of Alfred," Bruce muttered.

He took another breath to prepare himself, consciously switched back on his happy billionaire's personality and opened the door to greet Captain Gordon.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: _ Sadly, Dick Grayson isn't owned by me. DC has that privilege. DC owns all of the characters in this story. All I own is the distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations. (g) No money is being made from this. Please don't sue. It wouldn't be worth your while.

_Thank you:_ All who have sent support, encouragement and feedback. It is very much appreciated. Special thanks to Beth for betaing and for her honest and sometimes challenging commentsAnd also Teri H, for not letting me give up on my writing.

Please note_: I do write with an Aussie accent. wink_

Dick Grayson Genesis Series

Chronicle One:

_**The Last Moments of Innocence**_

_Part 2_

Alfred held the needle up to the light, squinting at the eye as he threaded it. His nostrils pinched at the chemical aroma coming from the treated thread.

It was times like this Alfred Pennyworth, a fourth generation butler, couldn't believe his life had come to this. Admittedly he had left MI6 and returned to his former profession looking for a less 'exciting' life, but repairing another man's underwear hadn't been exactly what he'd had in mind. The fact that this underwear was worth five thousand dollars because it was specially treated to be radiation resistant was the reason for the repair rather than replacement, but that didn't change the fact Alfred was repairing a pair of 'drawers'

"Ahh the secrets I could tell." Reporters had been clamouring for information about the mysterious vigilante 'The Batman' since the day the enigma had appeared three years earlier. "I wonder how much the obnoxious leaches would pay for a description of Batman's underwear?" Alfred muttered.

Alfred wasn't a fan of the media. While he accepted they had a role to play in society, he felt the press given to Batman was unduly negative. Batman was not a psycho dressed in a black suit who terrorized the night. He was a good man. The best Alfred had ever known.

Alfred's reflections were interrupted when the radio newsreader mentioned Batman. _"Police Commissioner Reiner has again declared the so-called 'Batman' does not exist, but rather is an urban legend the media is responsible for creating. Interestingly enough, this is not a view held by some of his police. More than one has referred to Batman and credit him with breaking up that smuggling ring last week and last month, closing down one of the largest drug labs the city has ever seen."_

Alfred smiled to himself with pride and returned to his sewing.

"_To other news, another of the district attorney's prime witnesses in the case against Mob heavy weight Archie Plumber has been killed. Harold Noosa, a former driver for Plumber was apparently accidently electrocuted while in witness protection. That is the fifth witness in protection to suffer a fatal accident in eleven months. Police Commissioner Reiner was not available for comment but the police press officer said that Captain Gordon will be allocated to the case. Captain James Gordon is a highly respected officer who has an exemplary record and a reputation for taking on the Mob."_

Alfred pursed his lips thoughtfully. Bruce spoke highly of Gordon. Captain Gordon had been a sergeant when Batman had first hit the streets. The two men had met in those early weeks and while Gordon had initially been hostile, a respect had developed between the two. One of the reasons Gordon had been promoted was because of his incredible arrest record, an achievement assisted in no little way by Batman... even if Bruce refused to take any credit.

"_And now we return to our Beatles Countdown."_

Alfred smiled. He admitted to three vices - The Beatles, cricket and French Earl Grey tea. There were unsubstantiated rumours he enjoyed 'Coronation Street', a good malt whiskey and 'The Shadow' Comic books, but he would deny that until the day he died.

Apart from those half dozen things, he was a delightfully bland and boring man as long as you ignored the fact he was a former MI6 agent who had found employment as the butler to the youngest billionaire in the United States... a billionaire who had a rather big black _bat_ of a secret.

OOOOO

Jim Gordon nodded curtly to Vicki Vale as she walked by. The police Captain had learned early in his career to speak to the media as little as possible. Anything one said to reporters inevitably ended up taken out of context and published on page one. Ms Vale was well known to police as one reporter to avoid at all costs.

Jim eyed the door to Bruce Wayne's office which had opened briefly when Vale had exited. Now it stood closed. The policeman cursed softly. This was a long shot but he had to try... and he didn't have time to wait for the likes of Bruce Wayne to preen himself. Jim marched forward, knocked and opened the door, ignoring the protests from Wayne's secretary.

However, as he opened the door, he discovered Bruce Wayne on the other side in the process of opening it.

"Captain Gordon," Bruce welcomed, with annoying enthusiasm.

Jim shook the man's hand. Bruce Wayne was a typical playboy. He lived in a world separated from 'real' people. His days were spent playing golf, attending tennis parties for the rich, gracing charity functions with his presence, being flocked by women at gala balls and generally enjoying a life of privilege. For that reason, Jim was surprised to find the twenty-five-year-old here at Wayne Enterprises.

"Mr. Wayne, I'll get straight to the point. I understand you have little to do with the running of your company so perhaps one of your directors or managers should join us?"

"My company vice-CEO on his way." He turned back into his office, gesturing for Gordon to join him. Sitting behind the large desk, he indicated one of the guest chairs. "So, while we're waiting, do you enjoy water-skiing?"

"Pardon?"

"Water skiing. It is wonderful for upper body strength and gives a man a chance to spend time with very pretty girls in bikinis." He laughed and began flicking through a water skiing magazine. "I think I might go this afternoon, as long as the weather holds. I burn easily.

Brainless twit.

There was a knock on the door and a tall man entered.

"Captain Gordon, may I introduce Steven Negus. He is the man responsible for overseeing all areas of operation at Wayne Enterprises."

Jim shook the other man's hand. Negus was in his early fifties, a man well-known in the business world. "Mr Negus. Your company owns a vehicle manufacturing factory on the East Bank."

Negus pursed his lips thoughtfully. Bruce's brow furrowed and his head bobbed once. "Probably. Please, gentlemen, take a seat."

Jim grunted and took the offered chair.

Bruce sat back in his leather chair, and smiled, clearly enjoying himself. "Would you like a mineral water?"

Gordon shook his head politely and then directed his attention to the other 'adult' in the room.

"I need your permission to seize all records and property at that factory."

"Why?" Negus asked taking the second guest chair.

Jim grimaced. He couldn't say 'because Batman suggested it'.

Batman - a costumed vigilante or that was how others saw him. Jim didn't. Not anymore. Jim knew the man... well, met with him irregularly.

Communication between the two was always initiated by Batman. The police captain would receive what he had dubbed a 'Batsignal' on his cell phone. An image of the bat logo Batman wore on his chest would flash up on Gordon's cell screen followed by a street name.

Despite there not being a specific place on the street indicated, Batman always found Gordon, swooping out of the shadows once he'd ensured Jim had come alone. Then the vigilante would quickly and efficiently provide the police captain with information. Sometimes Batman would seek information but usually the exchange lasted less than three minutes.

At first, Jim had done his best to uncover the man's identity, but he now owed Batman too much for that. Gotham was in the grips of an economic crisis and as a result, crime was flourishing, gangs were growing in power and the Mob had set up shop.

Batman had proved incredibly effective where the police had failed. The vigilante was not bound by the same rules as Gotham's law enforcement officers. The current crop of criminals didn't fear the police. However, they were terrified of The Batman. Among the criminal underworld Batman's name was uttered in hushed whispers, many believing he was some sort of supernatural being.

While Jim Gordon had never approved of vigilantes, Batman wasn't a run of the mill village idiot. He was highly intelligent, well-trained, and while he sometimes 'roughed up' the odd thug - something Jim would love to do himself - Batman had never crossed the line and taken a life. Jim had warned him the moment he crossed _that_ line, Gordon would personally ensure he went to the gas chamber. Batman's response had been intriguing. "If I cross that line, Captain, I will switch on the gas myself. I give you my word."

Jim trusted the man. To date, Batman had given him no reason not to. This tip concerning the trucks could well bust open the Mob.

"Mr. Negus, your factory is the only one in the city that manufactures mega trucks?"

"Yes, we have the only contract in the United States to build them."

"That's those really, really big trucks? The army use them to haul equipment," Bruce stated matter-of-factly, once again flicking through the water skiing magazine.

Jim centred his attention on Negus.

"What I'm going to tell you cannot leave this room. I must have your word."

Negus nodded.

Wayne didn't seem to be listening so Jim continued. "We believe that two of these mega trucks are being utilized by the mob as illegal mobile gambling establishments."

Negus shook his head. "That's not possible. Our security would have picked up such a theft."

"We believe your security personnel may be involved... please note, I'm not officially accusing anyone. However, if the Mob is involved, bypassing cameras and any type of security is what they specialize in."

Negus frowned

"How many trucks have you constructed this year?" Jim pressed.

"To be honest, I'd have to check," Negus admitted.

"I'll check for you," Bruce stated with an element of excitement. He began typing on the computer on the edge of his desk.

Jim suppressed his disgust. Bruce Wayne found it 'exciting' to dip his toe in the real world and do something as simple but meaningful as checking something on a computer.

"We have completed construction of eight trucks out of the ten we were contracted to build. The Defence Force won't take delivery for another few months," Bruce declared, with an element of triumph.

"So there should be eight complete trucks at the factory?" Jim clarified.

Bruce shrugged. "That would make sense."

Jim redirected his attention to Negus. "I have it on good authority that while there are eight sitting there during the day, there are only six at night. I believe someone at your company is allowing those trucks to be 'borrowed'. I understand the delicacy of defence projects and that the public face of a company is important but I want your permission to enter your factory at a moment's notice. I'm not sure when that will be. We need to time this right so that when we do burst in, we capture not only those involved from the factory but hopefully some of the mob members higher up the chain."

"Captain Gordon, surely you are able to get a warrant? Ohhh." Realisation and a certain amount of relief claimed Negas' face. "You don't have enough proof for a warrant?"

Jim clenched his jaw. "That is correct."

Steven Negus rose to his feet. "Then I'm afraid we must respectfully decline your request. As you have already acknowledged, we have an entire company reputation to protect. I will personally check the trucks to see if there is anything inside them. That should put your mind at rest. However, if we allow the police to be staging seizures at the drop of a hat..."

"Steven," Bruce interrupted, raising his hand. "When I was young, I wanted to be a policeman," he stated somewhat wistfully. "Captain Gordon, you wouldn't have come to us unless you had some sort of evidence."

Jim licked his lips. Wayne may be a brainless twit but he was still CEO of this company and likely had the casting vote. Perhaps convincing the young man was Gordon's best chance. "Mr. Wayne. I hae no proof and not a shred of evidence. Sometimes a policeman must work on gut instinct. To be honest, my superiors do not support this theory, but I have it on good authority that the information I've given you is correct."

"Good authority?" Bruce asked leaning forward, clearly intrigued. "Perhaps if you could share the source of this information?"

Jim shook his head adamantly. "No. I can't do that." He would not name Batman. He would never betray the vigilante.

"Can't or won't?" Bruce pressed.

Jim and Bruce Wayne stared at each other, Jim seeing something in the other man's eyes he hadn't noticed before. "I won't."

"What if I were to agree on the condition you share your source. I think we have a right to know who is accusing our workers."

Jim rose to his feet. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne. This isn't a game or some cop show on television. If you are going to help, that's good. If not, I understand."

Bruce nodded, sat back and laced his fingers. "

Steven Negus cleared this throat. "Captain Gordon, we are sorry."

Jim didn't take his eyes off the young owner of the company.

"Mr Wayne, I believe my source. I believe these trucks are being used without your knowledge to help fund Mob activities. I believe if you open them you will find the casinos which are driven to a different spot in the city a couple of nights a week so it is impossible for the police to trace. I also believe that if you do open the trucks, I will lose an opportunity to take down the Mob so I ask you not to do that. Without your permission I cannot enter your factory. You are within your rights to refuse and I will understand if you choose to do so, but... I need your help."

Bruce Wayne rose. "Captain Gordon, I appreciate your honesty with us. While I think helping the police is the responsibility of every Gothamite, this is a delicate situation and a multimillion dollar contract."

Negus exhaled with relief.

Jim clamped his mouth shut. He'd known it was a long shot.

"Having said that, if some of our employees are assisting in criminal activities, the fact that we agree to assist the police could be looked upon favourably in the courts and media, should something come of this. Hmmm."

Jim unconsciously held his breath.

Negus approached Wayne. "Sir. Please. I advise you to leave this to me."

Bruce Wayne pursed his lips. Several tense moments passed. "We have nothing to hide, Steven." He settled his gaze on Jim. "Alright, Captain Gordon. I'll grant you permission to enter the factory and remove whatever you require. And no one will open those trucks until you are ready."

"Mr. Wayne, I strongly advise against this," Negus urged in horror.

Jim smiled, ignoring Negus. He shook Bruce Wayne's hand warmly. "Thank you. Thank you very much, Mr. Wayne. Would you mind signing a statutory declaration giving me permission to do what we've agreed?"

"Of course," Bruce stated, accepting the document and sitting down again. "Thank you, Steven. I appreciated your opinion but I can take it from here."

"Yes, Sir," Negus murmured.

"I do remind you that what we've discussed cannot leave this room," Gordon reminded the other man.

Negus shot Gordon a hostile look and departed.

Once the door closed behind him, Jim returned his attention to Bruce Wayne.

"I just need a moment to read the fine print to make sure this is in order before I sign."

"Of course." Jim was surprised and it must have shown in his voice.

"Contrary to popular belief, Captain Gordon, I actually have a brain."

"So I see."

"How is your niece settling in?" Bruce asked.

Jim blinked.

Bruce signed the document and looked up.

Jim nodded. "She is doing better. Thank you." Four months earlier, Jim's brother and sister-in-law had been killed in a car accident in Ohio, leaving their thirteen year old daughter an orphan. Jim and his wife had immediately taken Barbara in and applied for adoption. The adoption had been approved on the Monday passed.

"I'm pleased. She is very lucky to have you." Bruce handed Jim the signed document.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne. Thank you very much."

"Let me know if I can be of further assistance and I'll do what I can... as long as it doesn't interfere with my social calendar," he added flicking a minute speak of lint off his suit shoulder.

Jim's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, and I'll keep your secret, if you keep mine."

Jim smirked. A playboy he may be, but Bruce Wayne was far from a brainless twit. "Agreed."

OOOOO

Alfred entered the family room carrying a tray with two cups of tea on it. Bruce was seated where he often was at this time of the day - waiting for the sun to go down so he could _go hunting_.

"Your tea, Master Bruce." Bruce continued to stare at the wall, deep in thought. That was far from unusual.

Alfred placed his employer's fine porcelain cup on the small table beside him and then sat in one of the other chairs.

The butler studied the silent young man across from him. Of late, Alfred had become increasingly concerned about his employer.

Bruce played three distinct roles in his life – the public Bruce Wayne, the private Bruce Wayne and the _avenger_.

In public, Bruce was the quintessential playboy. Cheerful, glamorous and somewhat shallow. It was an act he had perfected over the years, the keyword being 'act.' This was not who Bruce was but it was an essential deception to protect his secret.

In private, the tragic figure who was Bruce Wayne was revealed, but revealed only to Alfred.

Bruce was an incredibly quiet and sad young man who never smiled. A man who was deeply scarred by the murder of his parents. There was a hole inside Bruce Wayne - a baron pit where happiness and innocence had once resided. His soul was surrounded by darkness and his heart locked behind an impenetrable wall thanks to the events that had taken place in a dark alley so many years before. Alfred knew Bruce needed help to heal and he'd encouraged the boy to seek professional assistance, but without success.

Alfred sipped his tea. He had been prepared to wait and give Bruce time to come to terms with the idea of help, but of late, Alfred had become aware that Bruce was disappearing, swallowed by the persona of Batman. There had been a time when Alfred could talk to the boy about things like fly fishing, good literature and even politics. Bruce was a likeable person but Alfred had not seen that person for almost a year.

Now, all conversation they had, every thought that crossed Bruce's mind, was related to his role of Batman. He had become obsessed with cleansing the city. In the early days, he'd entered the night as an avenging angel with no thought in mind apart from protecting the innocent. He had quickly realized the only way to do that was to tackle the source of the problem. Rather than waiting for the criminals to strike, he was now striking _them_.

Bruce had spent years travelling the world gathering knowledge and training from various martial arts masters in preparation. He was a skilled detective, well-versed in forensics, psychology, body language and the law. Alfred had shared some of the knowledge he'd gleaned from twenty years as an MI6 agent and found Bruce to be a willing student who had quickly surpassed his teacher.

At first Alfred hadn't believed one man could make a difference but he'd been well and truly proved incorrect. Batman was having a huge impact, but at what cost to Bruce? Alfred feared that if he didn't so something soon, 'Bruce' would be totally subsumed by the stronger, more dominate Batman personality.

Bruce's chest heaved, interrupting Alfred's thoughts.

"Vicki Vale."

Alfred celebrated privately. This was the first non-Batman related conversation they'd had in weeks. "The young lady who believes you to be gay."

"She wanted to know why I'm not seen at night."

"Oh." This was Batman related. "And...?"

"I convinced her I suffer from panic attacks brought on by darkness. She accepted that. As a matter of fact, it is a story I may be able to cultivate to cover my Batman activities. Vicki Vale is an intelligent woman. If I can convince her I can probably convince anyone."

"Yes," Alfred agreed. "And you may be able to turn having the ear of a reporter to your advantage."

Bruce's expression became hard. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Knowing what the media knows and believes about Batman could prove useful. I may be able to use her as a source of information. I'm having lunch with her tomorrow."

"You may be tempting fate."

"Perhaps," Bruce murmured. He reached for his tea and sipped it. "Jim Gordon visited me today."

"As you planned."

"Yes. He handled it well. I was impressed. It gave me a chance to check how much I can trust him."

"And I take it your faith in him was proved."

Bruce nodded. "I've planted the GPS transmitters on the two trucks that have the casinos set up in them. When they next hit the streets I should be able to track them. I know which security guards at the factory are on the Mob's payroll. Once I know exactly which members of the mob hierarchy I can connect to the trucks, I'll let Jim know and he can conduct the raid... no search warrant needed."

Alfred consciously directed the conversation away from Batman. "Miss Antoinette appears quite taken with you."

Bruce eyed Alfred like he was from another planet. "Pardon?"

"Miss Antoinette. The young lady you have been seeing."

"Oh. Yes."

"You are fond of her."

"I suppose I am."

"You should spend a weekend away with her."

Bruce frowned. "I can't leave Gotham."

"Why?" Alfred demanded.

"Alfred," Bruce muttered.

Alfred shook his head in frustration. "Sir, it may not be my place, but I honestly believe you are spending too much time devoted to assisting the police. You are a young man with a life to live. You deserve that. Besides, Gordon has an entire police force to help him. You are only one man."

"One man could have saved my parents, Alfred. That's all it would have taken. One man to have leaped out of the shadows when we needed him. I _will_ _be_ that man. No other child will suffer what I did, not while I have breath in my body."

Alfred sighed. "Master Bruce, I do not profess to understand how you feel and what you are saying is very noble. However, it isn't healthy. I made some enquiries on your behalf. There is a very good therapist on High Street who..."

Bruce rose to his feet. "We've had this conversation. I can't afford to speak to someone like that in case I let something slip. I've worked hard to protect Batman's work. I'm not going to jeopardize that for anything."

"But Sir..." Alfred stopped. He could tell the shutters had slammed down and Bruce was no longer listening. Alfred understood this fight was very personal for Bruce. It was his way of not feeling like a victim. "Sir, you have remembered you are going to the circus tonight?"

Bruce's eyebrows drew down. "Why am I going to the circus?"

Alfred sighed. "I'll add social calendar director to my resume. Miss Antoinette said she hasn't been since she was a child and wanted to go, and you agreed to take her. Tonight is opening night for the circus' annual eight week season in Gotham. I believe the show starts at 6:30 and will finish by 8:30. You should be able to done your night clothes by 9:30."

Bruce grimaced. "I hate the circus."

"No, sir. You hate clowns."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you:_ Thank LotRia, Alhana-Antilles, Jedi Ani Unduli, Skoellya Seyth and EnderMoon for their wonderful encouragement and comments of support.

Special thanks to Beth for betaing and for her honest and sometimes challenging comments. And also Teri H, for not letting me give up on my writing.

_Disclaimer: _ Sadly, Dick Grayson isn't owned by me. DC has that privilege. DC owns all of the characters in this story. All I own is the distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations. (g) No money is being made from this. Please don't sue. It wouldn't be worth your while.

Please note_: I do write with an Aussie accent. wink_

Dick Grayson Genesis Series

Chronicle One:

_**The Last Moments of Innocence**_

_Part 3_

Dick loved clowns.

He loved the smell of sawdust, roar of the crowd and the excitement of opening night.

In just six hours the Big Top would be filled with people. Dick's nerves tingled and he grinned. Just thinking about it excited the eight-year-old.

On his right, Sandy and Anna were rehearsing with the horses, ponies, dogs and monkeys. On his left, Neil, Joe and Ben were checking and finalizing the rigging, massive coils of rope and chain littering the ground outside the main ring and hanging from the internal structure.

Across from Dick, Big Tom, the circus' strong man was lifting weights equivalent to medium sized cars.

Behind him, the boy could hear Pop shouting orders up to Mike who was connecting the lights in the top of the tent.

Mia waved to him as she led Darsha around the outside of the ring, the elephant taking her time as she always did. No one hurried Queen Darsha. She was stubborn and cantankerous but the moment the spot lights came on and she had an audience to perform to, Darsha turned on the personality just like every other born performer.

"Mike! Higher. I want one of those main lights hitting the trapeze at the top arc of John's swing and the other spotting Dick when he does his quadruple summersault."

"I'm trying Pop. The damn thing is stuck."

"Alex, where the hell are all of those roustabouts you signed on this morning? Get them in here to finish setting up the seats," Pop yelled.

"Pop, there's someone here to see you," someone shouted.

"Great," Pop snapped. "Mike, higher. It has to be higher!"

This was Dick Grayson's world – loud, robust and electrifying. He'd been born in the circus and performing since he was three. His dad had been born in a circus too, not Pop Haly's Circus but a circus. Most of the thirty-nine people who were a part of Haly's Circus were second, third or fourth generation circus brats. Of course, that thirty-nine swelled to almost sixty at each venue when extra roustabouts – known as Cazos - signed on for casual (cazo) work.

Dick knew to be cautious around the Cazos. While most were good people, Dick knew he always had to be within sight of a member of the 'family'. Most people only had small families. Dick was part of a circus family of almost forty.

The boy dashed toward Big Tom, flipped twice and launched himself at the man. Big Tom stuck out an arm the thickness of a tree trunk and caught the child by his ankle. "Hey, Dickie." He lifted the boy up by one leg until the child's eyes were almost level with the six foot eight giant's face.

Dick grinned, one dark lock of hair falling across his eyes. "Bobby needs your help to shift the camel cages."

Big Tom gently lowered the child to the ground. "Righ'o. On my way."

"Dick, lunch break is over. Your afternoon lessons start in ten minutes," a deeply accented voice called from the open tent flap.

Dick grumbled and nodded to his father. "Yeah, I know." John Grayson flashed his son a 'don't be late' look. "I'll be there, Dad," Dick called. As he turned his back to his father, Simba let out a roar.

Bella bolted. The small black and white pony shot out of the ring headed straight for the rigging and coils of rope the set-up team were still working on.

"Bella, HOLD!" Sandy cried.

Dick assessed the situation in a heartbeat. The animal could break a leg if she tripped on the ropes.

Dick raced at a forty-five degree angle toward the bolting pony. He knew he had to time this exactly right. As his and Bella's paths came together, Dick grabbed the pony's saddle and swung himself onto her back, gripped her mane and pulled back with all his might. "Whooh, Bella. Whooh!"

The small horse slowed but the mass of ropes loomed. "Jump, Bella!" Dick shouted, squeezing his knees. Bella reacted, soaring over the ropes and trotted to a stop.

Dick's heart pounded in his chest... and he could feel Bella's racing breathing under him. He leaned down and patted the pony's neck. "Easy, girl. Good girl."

Sandy appeared on one side of him and his father and Big Tom on the other, all three shouting his name. "Dick!"

"We're okay," Dick assured.

John scooped the child off the horse. "Dick, what did you think you were doing?"

"Saving Bella. It's okay. Bella was wonderful. She jumped." Dick frowned at the anger in his father's face. "Dad?"

John wrapped his arms around the boy and squeezed briefly before releasing and settling him on the ground. Dick could tell he was in trouble. Before his father could say anything Dick decided he should explain as much as he could as quickly as he could. "Sandy taught me how to mount a running horse. I've been able to do it since I was five. "

"A calm, running horse, Dick. Not one that is bolting," his father insisted.

"But it's Bella. I've been riding her since I was two."

"I understand that, Dick, but..." John Grayson stopped speaking and then smiled. "I'm fighting genetics here, aren't I?"

"It's in his blood, John," Big Tom chuckled. "Well done, kiddo."

Dick beamed up at the strong man and stroked Bella's neck.

Sandy rose from checking the pony's legs. "She's okay. Thanks, Dick, but you should never mount a bolting horse."

"But Bella would have been hurt."

The three adults exchanged glances.

Tom shrugged, "He handled it perfectly."

"He's a Grayson," John stated proudly, placing his hand on Dick's shoulder and winking at him.

Sandy rolled her eyes, muttered, "men," and then her stern gaze dropped to Dick. "What you did was very brave. You probably saved Bella from injury."

The boy grinned and stepped around in front of the pony. Bella nuzzled him. "I love you too, Bella."

"But," Sandy added, "I don't want you doing it again."

Dick didn't understand. He'd saved Bella. Bella was grateful. Big Tom and his father said he did it perfectly. So, what was the problem?

"Dick, do you mind taking Bella to her enclosure. I'll bring the other animals and brush them all down in a moment. First, I want to have a _word_ with Ashton." Dick didn't need to be an adult to tell Sandy was annoyed with the lion trainer. Lions didn't mix with horses and elephants. Everyone knew the lions weren't supposed to be in the tent when the horses and elephants were inside. Rehearsals were specifically timetabled to ensure they never crossed paths.

"No problemo, Sandy. Come on, Bella," Dick chirped, taking the small pony's reins and leading her outside.

"Dick, seven minutes and counting down. If you're late, your mother will go on the warpath and then we'll both be in trouble."

"I'll be there, Dad," Dick called back.

The boy exited the Big Top and paused scanning the 'town' that was rising out of nothing. Yesterday, when they'd arrived, this had been an empty paddock. Already, food stalls, rides and the petting zoo were in place. Dick knew it all like the back of his hand. No matter where the circus set up, the circus 'town', as it was called, was always erected on the same grid pattern.

The animal enclosures were kept near the trailers. Dick let go of Bella's reins, knowing the animal would follow him without being led. "You're lucky. You don't have to do lessons," he murmured as the pair turned right down passed the dodgem cars and food stalls.

Sylvia leaned over a counter as he passed and handed him some cotton candy on a stick, winking and whispering, "Our secret."

Dick grinned. "Thanks, Sylvia." He'd have to eat it quickly. His mother didn't like him snacking between meals.

Dick opened the gate in the erected barrier that divided the town in two. On this side were the living quarters of all those who worked in the circus along with the animal enclosures.

Without a word, Dick opened the gate for Bella and watched as the pony strolled inside, made her way to a hay bale and began feeding. "Sandy won't be long. I'd take all your gear off, but I'm late."

Dick sighed as he locked the gate and bit into his cotton candy. Usually he didn't mind his school lessons but not on set-up day. There was too much to do. He circled around the outside of the horse area and ducked under the rope of the elephant enclosure where Mia was checking one of Darsha's feet.

The elephant spotted him and trumpeted softly. "I don't have anything for you," Dick stated, slapping the elephant's leg. Darsha twisted her head, gently wrapped her trunk around the child and lifted him.

Dick giggled. "Okay. Okay. I _may_ have a peanut or two in my pocket. Dolu." Darsha obeyed the 'down' command and lowered him. Dick dug into his pocket and fished out two peanuts. Darsha opened her mouth and the boy placed them on her tongue. As the elephant chewed, Dick rubbed her trunk. "Good girl."

He wished he could stay, but his teacher would be starting any minute. As he moved to go, Darsha again encircled him with her trunk. He patted her long nose affectionately and looked up at her. "I have to go. Verze." Darsha released him immediately.

"I heard there was a kerfuffle in the Big Top," Mia commented.

"Ashton brought Simba in while Sandy and Anna had the horses in there. Bella bolted."

Mia shook her head. "He honestly thinks his is the only act in this circus."

Dick took another mouthful of cotton candy. Darsha sniffed at it curiously. "You can't have any of this. It's bad for your teeth."

"Hey, have you seen, Pop?" Mike asked jogging up to the pair.

"He was called away to speak to someone," Dick offered.

"Could you check and see if he's in his trailer and tell him I just can't get that light to budge. I'll check for him at the ticket box."

"May have to get Big Tom up there," Mia chuckled. Mike winked at Dick.

Big Tom was the biggest and strongest man Dick knew but it was a well-known fact the circus strong man was afraid of heights. "Maybe my dad could. He's pretty strong."

Mike grinned. "He sure is, Dick. Now, off you go and check Pop's trailer for me."

Dick nodded and jogged off; darting passed the camels, the empty monkey cages, across the sheep and donkey enclosure and down between the trailers headed for Pop's Winnebago.

_Alowishus__Archibald _Haly – known as 'Pop' to everyone - owned the circus. His father had bought it forty-three years earlier and Pop had taken over after his father's death. Some of the Cazos were afraid of Pop because he had a quick, fiery temper, but Dick and the rest of the circus family knew Pop's bark was worse than his bite.

As Dick approached Pop's trailer he spotted a stranger in a suit loitering near it. The boy slowed his pace. None of the Cazos were supposed to be back here, though; this stranger didn't look like a roustabout. No worker would be dumb enough to show up in a pin-striped suit.

The boy stopped walking. He considered going over and asking what the man was doing but rejected the idea immediately. His parents had told him repeatedly not to approach anyone when he was on his own. Dick breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted Pop approaching from the other direction.

"Sorry. I was held up." Pop wiped his black smudged hands on his old trousers. Perspiration drenched his navy blue wife beater (singlet/vest/undershirt) which clung to his broad body. "Some of these roustabouts don't know their asses from their elbows. If they had a brain, they'd be dangerous." Pop offered his hand to the man who peered down at it as if it were dog crap and then took it gingerly. "So what can I do for you Mr...?"

"Zucco. Tony Zucco." Zucco took out a handkerchief and wiped his hand.

Dick didn't like this man. Some people looked down on circus people and it was clear to the youngster that this man was doing that to Pop now.

"Mr. Haly, I have a proposition for you."

Pop pursed his lips and looked the stranger up and down. "Then you're not one of those damn animal activists. For the record, my animals are happy and healthy and treated better than most people's kids."

Zucco laughed. "Not interested in your animals."

Again Pop looked the prima donna up and down. "Okay, I'll give you five minutes. Come inside."

"Pop!" Dick called, but the burly fifty-five-year-old disappeared up the stairs and into his trailer behind the stranger.

Dick took another mouthful of his cotton candy. Pop said he'd only be five minutes so the boy decided to wait outside. He walked up to the trailer and leaned back against it to wait.

There was a strange sweet smell in the air... not unlike his mother's perfume.

Pop's voice wafted out the open door_. "Clock's ticking."_

"_Looking after your workers must be your main priority."_

"_So, you're an insurance agent? Sorry. We've got all the insurance we need."_

"_I'm not talking about traditional insurance, Mr. Haly. Insurance is what you need after something happens. I'm offering protection so nothing _does_ happen."_

"_Oh, yes." _

Dick stood up. He could tell by the tone of Pop's voice something was wrong. The little boy moved across to the doorway and peered inside.

Pop was standing. Mr. Zucco was lounging in Pop's favourite chair and smiling.

"You see, Mr. Haly, Gotham is a very dangerous city these days."

"Oh, yes." Pop's voice was incredibly strained. Dick held his breath. Anyone who knew Pop knew he was about to blow.

"For a modest fee, I can ensure your workers don't have any _accidents _while they are in town._"_

"Now you listen to me, you pathetic, sweet smelling, piece of shit." The volume was so loud the windows shook. "I've been in this business all my life. I've come across mongrels like you who think you can scare people. Sonny, I don't scare. Now get your ass outta here!"

Zucco rose, glaring at Pop. "I really think you should reconsider, Old Man."

Dick grimaced. Zucco had just crossed the line.

Pop stepped forward so his ruddy face was only an inch from Zucco's. "Did you just call me an _old_ man?"

Abruptly, there was a knife in Zucco's hand.

Dick gasped. Pop grabbed his attacker's arm and spun him around, slamming him up against the wall and jolting the knife loose. "Did... you... just... call... me... OLD man?"

Pop yanked Zucco off the wall and bodily tossed him out the door. Dick leapt to the side as Zucco sailed through the air and landed with a thud on the ground.

Pop stepped down out of his trailer and roared, "Now get off this property. I'm renting it for the next two weeks and if I see you here again, I won't be as _hospitable_."

Zucco rose to his hands and knees, looked up at Pop with hatred in his eyes and then rose to his feet. He glared down at Dick and then back at Pop. "You've made a mistake. A big mistake!"

Pop stepped forward.

Zucco backed up, spun around and strode away.

Pop placed his hand on Dick's shoulder. "That, my boy, is what a cowardly weasel looks like."

"Do you think he'll come back?" Dick asked, watching Zucco disappear under the fence and get into a big black car.

"Nahhh. I deal with fellas like him all the time, son. They're just bullies. Besides, if he does come back, we'll feed him to the lions." Pop winked.

Dick grinned.

OOOOO

Mary Grayson swept a lock of her dark hair out of her eyes and returned to washing up the lunch dishes. As she stared out the large trailer's window, her mind drifted back to a day when she'd lived in a normal home, back to when her mother had been alive. Sadness washed over her; today was her mother's birthday.

As a mum herself now, Mary realized what an amazing person her own mother had been. A teacher who became a single mother after her soldier husband's death overseas. Yet, Mary had been given the best of everything - ballet, gymnastics and piano lessons and a private school education.

Mary shook her head. She'd been devastated when her mother had married Karl Brennan – a lazy alcoholic. After the severe asthma attack that had taken her mother's life, Mary had run away. She hated Brennan but had no other family to go to. Somehow she'd found her way to Haly's Circus where she had been embraced the moment she'd told her story.

Nancy had taken her in. Mary smiled fondly. Nancy had been a rough diamond. A huge woman who smoked, had diabetes and who sadly, had passed away from a heart attack just before Mary's twentieth birthday. If not for Nancy, Mary may well have ended up on the streets at the age of fourteen.

In the early days, Mary had joined the ground tumbling team, her gymnastics and ballet background placing her in good stead. After the trapeze act had defected to Pop's main competitor, Pop had advertised for trapeze artists. That was when John Grayson had entered Mary's life. John had lost his family in floods in Europe and had come to America to start a new life. He never spoke about the tragedy that had wiped out his entire Circus family but Mary had looked it up on the internet. A flash flood had ripped through the town The Grayson Family Circus was visiting. Every animal washed away. Every person in the circus drowned. By some miracle John had survived.

Mary had read fairytales that told of love at first sight and had scoffed at them. However, the moment she saw John she fell head over heels in love. He was tall, handsome, kind, talented... everything she'd ever dreamed of. And best all, he'd felt the same way about her.

Together Mary and John had started their own trapeze act - just the two of them. They'd married within in months of first meeting and then had been blessed with Dick. They'd named him Richard after both of his grandfathers.

Dick looked like her, though he had his father's jet black hair and sparkling blue eyes. But more than anything, Dick had his father's nature, father and son sharing the same buoyant personality and positive outlook on life which never ceased to amaze Mary. They seemed to bounce back from adversity with ease, and assisted others to do so as well. Neither stayed angry for long, things forgiven and forgotten quickly. Of course, both her husband and her son could be stubborn, and their untidiness was infuriating, but they had so much love to give.

Mary smiled. She was truly blessed.

Her thoughts drifted to her son. He was the only child in the circus at the moment. Sometimes Mary wondered if she and John were doing the right thing by their little boy. Several other people in the circus had kids but all were either living with the other parent – separation and divorce an occupational hazard – or had been placed in boarding schools. Most stated it was because they wanted better for their kids.

Mary bit her bottom lip. She hated the thought of sending Dick away but it was a decision she and John would have to face when Dick was ready for high school. She knew John would be against it. Her husband had limited formal education but he'd learned English along with his native language. Mary was determined her son would have every opportunity and a formal education would give Dick options. If he wanted to stay in the circus when he was older, that was fine. If not, Mary wanted to ensure he had the skills to follow his heart.

The small clock on the wall chimed once, indicating it was one o'clock. Mary cursed under her breath. She'd sent John to remind Dick his school lesson was about to start but knowing her husband, he'd been side-tracked. Mary had borne one child but there were days when she felt like she had two.

After wiping her hands on a tea towel, she headed outside in search of Dick and didn't have to go far. The child was standing eating cotton candy and giggling with Pop. Mary shook her head. Every person in the circus spoiled her boy.

"Richard John Grayson!"

Dick's eyes widened and he whipped the pink cotton candy behind his back, guilt claiming his young face. "Mum!"

"Get you backside inside now. Your lessons have started."

"Yes, mum." Dick dashed toward her, the cotton candy miraculously gone. Mary's eyes narrowed and she looked over at Pop in time to see the offending candy disappear behind his back. The man shrugged and grinned.

Mary shook her head and followed her son back into their trailer. Dick was already seated at the computer and logged into his online school. "Hello Mrs. Sanders. I'm here."

The teacher's face filled the screen via the webcam. "Good to see you, Dick. We've already started. Please email me your homework now. Sara and Joseph, I'm waiting for yours as well. Everyone ready?"

Eight voices all confirmed... children from around the US who didn't attend a regular school because of isolation or, as in Dick's case, because his parents were always on the move.

"Today, I want to continue looking at verbs."

Dick hit enter, then leaned his elbow on the table and rested his face on his hand. His eyes drifted out the window. Mary moved across and closed the curtain, winked at her son and ruffled his hair before heading back to the sink to complete the washing up.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you:_ Thank to all who have sent encouragement and comments of support.

Special thanks to Teri H, for not letting me give up on my writing.

_Disclaimer: _Sadly, Dick Grayson isn't owned by me. DC has that privilege. DC owns all of the characters in this story. All I own is the distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations. (g) No money is being made from this. Please don't sue. It wouldn't be worth your while.

Please note_: I do write with an Aussie accent. wink_

Dick Grayson Genesis Series

Chronicle One:

_**The Last Moments of Innocence**_

_Part 4_

Alfred flicked his gaze to the rear view mirror. Bruce and Antoinette were arguing in the back seat of the limousine. The butler, come chauffeur, smiled. This young woman was good for Bruce. She didn't treat him like a millionaire or a prize. She certainly didn't throw herself at him or try to impress him. They were equals and there were few in Bruce's life who felt equal to him.

Antoinette was an only child and thus sole heir to her father's fortune. While she was spoilt and a touch on the selfish side, she was intelligent and very well-educated, her father insisting on her going to university to get degrees in business and management. Bruce trusted her judgement and welcomed her opinion, often using her as a sounding board for Wayne Corp. decisions.

However, the major reason Alfred wanted Net to stay in Bruce's life was because around her, it wasn't all an act. More and more, Bruce was showing her who he really was. The cheesy smile of the playboy was tamed a little. As a matter fact, around Net, Bruce didn't really play the playboy at all. Then again, he wasn't himself either. It was a combination of the two and that was the healthiest thing Alfred had seen in a long time.

"Enough," Net ended. "You're wrong and you know it."

Bruce huffed. Net grinned.

For a few moments there was silence. "Aren't we a little old to be going to the circus?"

Net shook her head. "Nope. You're never too old to go to the circus, you old fuddy-duddy. Isn't that right, Alfred?"

"As you say, Miss Antoinette."

"Besides, apparently that actress Paula Gosling will be there."

"Now the truth comes out. So, you don't want to be upstaged," Bruce chuckled.

Net elbowed him. "Not nice. Will you come for lunch on Saturday?"

"I don't think I have anything on. Alfred?"

"Nothing you can't change," Alfred commented.

Bruce shot Alfred a look which Alfred spotted in the rear view mirror. The butler smiled.

Net looped her arm through Bruce's. "I've had mommy invite three movie stars so the media will focus on them and not us." She tilted her head onto Bruce's shoulder. "I really missed you when I was in Monte Carlo."

"I missed you too."

"That he did," Alfred offered.

"Alfred, you are not indispensible," Bruce muttered.

Net giggled.

Alfred grinned. It was a standing joke between he and Bruce. Both knew Bruce would not survive without him.

"So you missed me?" Net checked.

Bruce nodded uncomfortably.

Alfred had been surprised. Bruce _had_ missed her. He had commented on her absence several times and that said a lot.

"I think our relationship is evolving."

Alfred glanced up and spotted Bruce had stiffened. Commitment was something that terrified the young man.

Net sighed, clearly having sensed his tension. "Relax, Bruce. I'm not asking you to marry me."

"I thought that was supposed to be my line," Bruce murmured.

Net snorted and sat up. "I'll be old and grey if wait for that, Bruce. I'm not ready yet either. All I'm saying is I think things are beginning to change between us. I used to think of you as a... a buddy. Now... well, now I think of you as my boyfriend."

Bruce cleared his throat but said nothing.

Net kissed him on the cheek. "Don't worry, Bruce. I know you need your private time. I'm the same. I know you aren't the playboy you seem to be. You've let me see that. I've let you see that I'm not just that spoilt rich bitch. This afternoon Alfred told me about the panic attacks. It explains a lot."

Again, Alfred made eye contact with Bruce in the rear view mirror. Net had mentioned wanting to go on after the circus because they never went out at night and so Alfred had explained going to the circus itself, considering the act would finish after dark, was a huge step for Bruce.

"Don't worry. I'll stay with you and the moment you want to leave, we do."

"Thanks," Bruce whispered. "Alfred, any media?"

"I'm afraid so, Sir. Six cars were waiting at the gate and have followed us. I believe one is Haysted from "Celebrity Magazine", one is Channel Eight and another is Miss Vale from the Gotham Mail."

"Oh, you mean that trollop who said Bruce was gay. I've got a few choice words for her."

"Relax, Net. Let me deal with her."

"Oh, and how are you going to do that? Sleep with her to prove it!"

"Nettie," Bruce scolded. "I'm having lunch with her tomorrow... and only lunch."

"Can I come?"

Bruce shrugged. "If you want to. Of course, that may provide her with a really big story."

Net pouted. "I hate the media."

Ahead, Alfred spotted the circus. Cars lined the streets, people parking wherever they could. There was a clear police presence, several uniformed officers milling amongst those waiting to see the next celebrity to arrive. The annual opening night often attracted high profile visitors because the circus was uncontroversial. Political figures and celebrities could be seen here without anyone hinting at scandal. Of course, collectively they still didn't attract half the attention a young, handsome billionaire bachelor did.

Alfred weaved between the cars and pulled into the clearly signed drop-off zone. Without a word, Alfred climbed out of the car and opened Miss Antoinette's door.

"Thank you, Alfred."

Bruce climbed out after her.

"Sir, I shall park a few blocks away should you need me."

"What will you do all that time?" Net inquired.

Alfred smiled. "I have the paper with me. I'll be back at this spot at 8:30pm. If there is a change, just call."

"No," Net disagreed. "Not here. Over there right on the entrance."

"Miss Antoinette, there is nowhere to park there."

"But there will be more light once the sun goes down."

Alfred smiled. She was thinking of Bruce and his supposed fear of the dark.

"Just pull in and Bruce and I'll jump in."

"As you wish, Ma'am. Sir, I'll leave you in Miss Antoinette's capable hands." Alfred winked at Bruce and disappeared just as Bruce and Net were attacked by the paparazzi.

OOOOO

Bruce pulled his 'playboy' smile on and noticed Net had done the same thing. Like him, Net was experienced at dealing with the attention of the nation's media. He felt comfortable around Net mostly because she didn't expect him to talk and be happy. She liked to spend moments alone and understood his need for the same. He was actually very fond of her... but love? He wasn't sure. His mind darted to Selina Kyle – the Catwoman. They had shared an instant sexual attraction but such a liaison was out of the question.

A dozen people were calling his name and asking questions. Bruce turned toward the voice of the reporter with whom he hoped to create a professional relationship. Vicki Vale smiled and stepped out of the horde of reporters and photographers.

"Hello, Vicki. Covering the circus tonight?"

Vicki smirked. "Like everyone else, I'm covering you. So you've bowed to pressure and entered the social set? The Mayor, three actresses and some high profile business men are here tonight."

"Really? I'm here because a certain young lady wanted to come." Net sidled up to Bruce. Flashes went off in a frenzy. "Vicki, this is Antoinette."

Vicki nodded.

Antoinette turned away. "Come on, Bruce. I want to look at the animals before the show starts."

Bruce nodded politely to Vicki and allowed Net to pull him in the other direction.

Net was jostled by two photographers as she tried to proceed. Bruce immediately addressed the paparazzi. "Ladies and gentleman, as you know, I always make time for the media but Net has just been pushed and I won't have that. So, here's the deal. We won't call our body guards to hold you all a twenty feet away from us, if you all take three large steps back now and give us some breathing space." No one moved. Bruce took out his cell phone. Instantly, the paparazzi shuffled backwards providing a six foot circle around Bruce and Net. "Thank you. Net."

The pair continued. A clown squeezed between the people and entered the no-go zone. It walked directly next to Bruce, mimicking him. The paparazzi roared with laughter and flashes went off in a frenzy. Bruce held his smile in place.

He really, really hated clowns.

OOOOO

The BigTop appeared empty. A simple length of rope was stretched across the two openings with signs hanging from them saying 'Keep Out'. Tony Zucco shook his head. He'd thought it would be more difficult to gain access but he'd simply put on an old pair of jeans and a smudged t-shirt, stole a tool belt from one of the caravans and lifted a security pass from one of the roustabouts. Then he'd just slipped under the rope.

While Zucco didn't like heights, this was worth it. He had climbed the ladder and reached out to where the high tensile wires of the trapeze were attached. He'd removed the nuts that held the wires in place, the two thick strands now precariously looped around the pegs with nothing on top to stop them rising and ultimately coming off. The moment there was tension on the wires the end loops would ascend the pegs. Enough weight on the wires that held the trapeze in place - something like the combined mass of an adult male and female hanging from the same swing - and the loops would slip up over the pegs completely. The trapeze ropes and anything attached to them would plummet to the ground below.

All the posters said the Flying Graysons performed without a net. How unfortunate for the Graysons... and how fortunate for Zucco. This was going to send a very big message not only to Haly but to anyone else who considered crossing Zucco in the future.

Zucco smiled and wrapped a handkerchief around the deep cut on his hand caused when tampering with the trapeze. This would show that old man. The smile fell and Zucco's anger at the circus owner rose. If it got out that he'd been tossed out by Haly, Zucco would lose street cred... for what it was. Basically, Zucco was a low level mobster. His uncle was high up in the mob organisation, but Zucco himself was small fry. He wanted action of his own. Thus, he had started his own protection racket and it was going well. He now employed two thugs to do his dirty work but he'd wanted to do this job himself. This was between him and the old man.

Zucco started down the ladder, ignoring the discomfort from his palm.

OOOOO

Vicki made her way through the circus. She was determined to get a good position in the tent so she could photograph Bruce and his 'date' while they were watching the show... perhaps even snap a kiss between them in the dark. Let the other reporters capture the snobbish witch feeding the monkeys. "One ape feeding another ape," Vick muttered.

Antoinette Noble looked down her nose at people. That really rubbed Vicki the wrong way. She couldn't see what Bruce saw in the other woman.

Vicki paused to study the live displays outside the BigTop. Some of these acts would perform in the main show. Each was on a circular raised platform about two feet off the ground with a backdrop naming the act. There was Big Tom, the circus strong man who was holding a huge weight in one hand and a child in the other so the boy's parents could take photos. A few feet from Big Tom was Denny the Elastic Man - a contortionist who had his legs over his shoulders. Children were taking turns climbing up onto the platform to have their photos taken with him. On the next wider platform was a team of jugglers, then a dog balancing a ball on its nose.

At the very end were two adults and a boy, but unlike the other performers, there was a rope around this small stage preventing people from getting nearer than six feet. Why?

Vick moved closer and read the backdrop. 'The Flying Graysons'. These were the trapeze artists. A family by the look of them. The trio was dressed in skin-tight lycra, standing smiling for those who were snapping pictures. Vicki took a single photo herself. There was a story here. Husband, wife and child by the look of it. Nice personal interest article.

"Hello," she called to them. The boy waved. "I'm a reporter. I was wondering if I could interview you for a story in the Gotham Mail?"

"Of course," the man answered. "All publicity is good for the circus." He had a thick accent. European, Vicki guessed.

"So, you are a family?"

"That's right. The Flying Graysons. My wife, Mary. My son, Dick." The boy grinned widely. "And I'm John. I've been a trapeze artist since I was ten. Mary took it up late... when she was eighteen. Dick here, started when he was three. Dick is one of only two people on the planet who can do a quadruple summersault so watch out for that."

Vicki scribbled down notes. It was clear John Grayson was used to doing such interviews. "How long have you been with Haly's Circus?"

"Me, almost ten years. Mary, almost fifteen. Dick was born here."

Vicki lowered her gaze to the child. "What's the best thing about living in a circus?"

The child grinned. "Everything. The animals. The people. Being able to fly."

Vicki smiled. "What about school?"

"I do my lessons online. Mom won't let me forget." He glanced up at his mother who winked.

"Thank you," Vick nodded to them and moved off.

OOOOO

Dick watched the reporter go. She was the only one so far. Normally, he and his parents attracted media attention on opening night.

"Where are all of the reporters?" Dick asked. The smile on his face didn't falter, the art of speaking while smiling one all performers learn quickly.

"Not sure," his father replied... his smile not moving. Families continued to take photos of them. "Opening night in Gotham always attracts a lot of famous people. Media are probably focusing on them."

"Sandy told me about you encouraging Dick to take chances," Mary whispered.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"Dick doesn't see danger in anything."

"I'm standing here. I can hear you talking about me," Dick stated.

"Not talking to you," his mother scolded without losing her smile.

"Honey, you know the moment a trapeze artist starts seeing danger it _puts_ them in danger," John responded.

"I don't want him to see danger, I want him to respect it, John."

"Okay. I'll talk to him."

"I'm right here," Dick complained.

"We're not talking to you," his father stated, elbowing him playfully.

Dick was about to respond when he spotted a media frenzy approaching. There were photographers, cameramen and reporters with microphones. The families facing the Graysons turned to investigate the ruckus.

"Dad?"

"I don't know. Must be someone famous. Get ready. They may come over here. Looks like there are some national TV stations. Let's see if we can get Haly's on TV."

Dick tensed as the crowd came closer. Without warning, they parted and two people walked toward the Graysons. Dick didn't recognise them, but they looked very normal.

The man smiled at the family and then he and the woman moved off to look at the other acts.

"Who are they?" Dick whispered.

"That's Bruce Wayne. Rich as God apparently."

Gradually, the mob moved off and the families returned to snapping photos of the Graysons.

Abruptly, a very young child darted under the rope and raced toward Dick.

"Timmy!" a woman shrieked.

The boy peered up at Dick. "Hello. I'm Timmy."

Dick stepped down off the platform and crouched in front of the child. "Hi, I'm Dick."

"I'm..." Timmy held up three fingers.

Dick held up eight fingers. "I'm eight."

"Are you a clown?"

Dick grinned. "No. I'm a trap... I swing on a swing at the top of the tent. It's really high."

"Oh. I want a puppy for Christmas."

"I want a motorcycle." Dick glanced at the boy's parents.

"Can we have a photo?" the boy's father asked.

"Sure. Smile Timmy." Once the photo was taken, Dick took the little boy's hand and walked him back to the rope. "When the Ringmaster says look up at the Flying Graysons, you look up and I'll wave to you, okay."

Tim grinned and walked back under the rope without ducking. "Mommy, Dick is going to wave to me."

The woman smiled and mouthed the words 'thank you' as the family walked away. Tim turned and waved before he disappeared into the crowd.

Dick sighed and returned to the platform, immediately pulling the smile back in place for the cameras. "Dad, why can't I have a little brother?"

"You'll have to ask your mother about that. It's probably time we expanded the act."

Dick chuckled as his mother elbowed his father.

"Alright. That's fifteen minutes. Let's go and limber up," Mary ordered.

"Folks, that's it for now. We'll see you during the show," John announced as he led his family toward the Big Top.

A Cazo exited as they were entering. John Grayson shook his head and grumbled, "You aren't meant to be in here now. It's off limits to everyone except performers."

The man kept his face down and grunted 'sorry'. He lifted his gaze enough to meet Dick's as he started to move off. The sweet smell of aftershave tickled the boy's nostrils. For almost two full seconds they stared, each recognising the other. Dick's stomach dropped, the coldness of the other man's expression cutting him to the quick. "Hey!"

Zucco darted into the crowd.

"What?" John asked.

"That man," Dick yelled, pointing as Zucco disappeared. "That Cazo threatened Pop this afternoon."

John took a few steps in the direction the man had gone. Mary grabbed his arm. "John. No."

Dick turned to his parents. "I have to tell, Pop."

"Not now," Mary insisted. "They'll be opening the tent in a few minutes. We need to stretch and limber up."

"But mom!"

"You heard your mother," John stated, though he was still looking for sign of the man. Finally, he spun around, patted Dick's shoulder and coaxed him toward the annexed dressing room.

OOOOO

The roar of the crowd... boom of the music... dazzle of the lights.

Dick's heart raced. This is what he lived for. Below, the clowns were finishing their act. Any moment the ringmaster would announce the star act... "The Flying Graysons". Then, Dick would fly. There was nothing like it in the world. His father said that flying was the epitome of freedom. While Dick didn't know exactly what that meant, he was certain his father felt the same exhilaration as he released the bar and for a few seconds soared through the air.

Dick glanced up at his mother. She smiled, reached down and traced an 'R' on his chest. It was an old gypsy custom passed on from his father's family. The 'R' symbolized Dick's protection animal, the robin. His father's was the petrel and his mother's the dove. Every aerialist from the Grayson family had had a bird guardian that protected them when they flew.

"Ready?" Dick's father asked.

"As ever!" Dick responded.

OOOOO

Bruce's mind drifted. Tonight he would follow the casino lead and see if he could trace it back to some mob heavy weights. Taking on the mob was a delicate business. Attacking head on was out of the question, so Batman was content with taking the structure down piece by piece. With Gordon's help, he was sure that in time, they would dismantle the mob.

Bruce glanced toward the circus tent opening and noted the sun had finally disappeared. Thankfully the boring performance was almost over and soon he would take Net home and then go hunting.

The billionaire's thoughts were dragged back to the show, not by the music or the crowd noise but by the lack of both. There was an eerie sense of silent expectation. Bruce noted that all had their eyes raised to the centre of the big top. There he saw a small boy swinging on the trapeze.

Bruce frowned. What sort of parent would endanger their child for cheap thrills? True there was a net, but Bruce knew first hand that it took skill to fall. The very first part of his aerial training in preparation for becoming Batman had been learning to fall to avoid injury. Even the best sometimes fell awkwardly. The difference between a sprained shoulder and a broken neck was in the skill of the 'faller'.

Bruce took out the mini binoculars Alfred had insisted on stuffing into his coat pocket so he could 'enjoy' the show. He adjusted the focus and watched the child release and flip before being caught by his father. Bruce was impressed.

Each successive stunt required a higher level of skill. Unlike those around Bruce who were 'oooohing' and 'ahhhhhhing' and crying out 'amazing' and 'incredible', Bruce didn't see a boy wonder. He saw an extremely well-trained aerialist. The child had genuine skill which had been expertly honed.

Bruce's brow furrowed and he marvelled at the trust the child had in his mother and father. Batman was an accomplished aerialist but he depended on no one. When the boy let go, he appeared to have complete faith in his parents to catch him.

"Incredible," Bruce murmured.

"He's so young," Net commented in awe.

Bruce shook his head as the boy was caught by his mother and the pair swung back to the side and dismounted. The crowd cheered.

"Ladies and gentlemen. For Dick's final act he will perform a stunt only one other person in the world can do – the legendary quadruple summersault. That's right! He will flip four times. This requires great concentration so I ask everyone to be very quiet."

Bruce adjusted the focus so he could clearly see the child's face. There wasn't even a hint of fear. All Bruce saw was excitement. This little boy was in his element. There was an exchange of words between mother and child and then the boy reached out for the swing. He gave some sort of signal to his father on the opposite side of the trapeze and the pair both mounted swings.

Instantly, silence descended over the crowd. Bruce watched fascinated as the pair swung back and forth adjusting the height of the arc so their timing would be perfect.

Dick's father flipped upside down into catching position.

The boy reached the top of this arc and... Bruce's mouth parted in admiration as the child released and his tiny body spun at high speed. Four rotations were completed with ease providing ample time for him to stretch out. The adult's hands clamped around the boy's and the crowd roared as the boy dangled precariously but very safely in his father's grip.

Through the binoculars Bruce witnessed the happy smiles exchanged between father and son. Love shone between them like a beacon and Bruce felt a flicker of a wink, the father released his child. This was all just 'another day at the office' for them. As the child returned to the side to stand with his mother, Bruce rose from his seat and applauded with the rest of the audience.

"He is fearless," Net cried clapping.

"He is a master of his craft," Bruce explained. "Naturally gifted and incredibly well-trained."

An innate sense of happiness radiated from the child that was felt by all. The boy waved to his adoring fans, a beaming smile on his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the ringmaster boomed. "To coin a phrase, you ain't seen nothing yet. Please be seated as the Flying Graysons perform the most dangerous aerialist stunts ever performed."

Bruce sat down wondering how the show would top what they'd just seen.

"Husband and wife will now perform without the safety of a net." The crowd began to mutter. "Mary's life will be totally in the hands of John. If they misjudge, Mary will plummet to her _death_." The word 'death' echoed melodramatically as the safety net dropped to the ground.

Bruce pursed his lips thoughtfully. Surely performing without a net was an unnecessary risk. Then again, Batman performed without a net every night and if Mary and John Grayson were as well-trained as they appeared, the chances of falling were slim. Besides, circus', like any other business in these hard times, were vying for an angle over their competitors.

Net gripped Bruce's arm tightly.

A hush fell over the crowd as the Flying Graysons took to the swings. Bruce flicked his attention momentarily to the boy who stood so many feet above the ground. Dick looked totally relaxed.

To the gasps of the crowd, Mary Grayson flipped and was caught by her husband. Thunderous cheers ensued. Then, the aerialists were falling - both of them.

Bruce blinked. His mind tried to make sense of it for they had completed the stunt successfully. Then he saw. The trapeze itself was plummeting. For a split second he wondered if it was part of the act. Horrified, Bruce flashed his attention to the child. His heart froze. The terror he saw on the boy's face was a mirror of his own thirteen years earlier.

The boy screamed.

Time slowed.

The Grayson's plummeted.

Bruce could not tear his eyes away from the boy.

John and Mary Grayson hit the ground.

The boy's scream halted abruptly.

The crowd erupted in horror.

Bruce's world closed in on him. It had happened again! The death of two innocent people and no one had leapt from the shadows to save them. Bruce's soul screamed in agony. The plague of helplessness washed over him.

The boy grabbed a rope and began to descend.

"No!" Bruce cried, leaping to his feet. Before he knew it, he was vaulting the people in front of him to intercept the Grayson boy. Dick couldn't be allowed to see his parents this way. The mask of death was hideous and no child should see that on the face of his parents.

Before Bruce reached the ring, the circus people had converged on the Graysons. The strongman and the woman who had worked with the horses grabbed the child. He struggled against them, then a grey haired man appeared and enveloped the boy in his powerful arms and shepherded by others, they headed toward the side of the tent and into the dressing annex.

Bruce started breathing again. The child was safe. Only then did the billionaire look to where the Graysons lay. He recognized the man leaning over them as a Gotham doctor he'd met at some function. It was clear from the doctor's body language and lack of urgency that the Graysons were dead... and their child was now an orphan.

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, his head swimming. He had trained all his life to stop this ever happening again.

Gradually, logic moved in and replaced the horror. The Graysons hadn't simply fallen. Bruce lifted his eyes to the trapeze that was secured on the left but draped and dangled to the ground, no longer attached on the right. Something had gone wrong with the rigging. His instincts told him this was no accident.

Bruce set his jaw and pulled out his phone. "Alfred. I need my night clothes, immediately!"


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you:_ Thank you to all who have sent encouragement and comments of support. There are a few of you I haven't been able to send personal thanks because your settings down allow personal messages.

Special thanks to Teri H for not letting me give up on my writing.

_Disclaimer: _Sadly, Dick Grayson isn't owned by me. DC has that privilege. DC owns all of the characters in this story. All I own is the distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations. (g) No money is being made from this. Please don't sue. It wouldn't be worth your while.

Please note_: I do write with an Aussie accent. wink_

* * *

Dick Grayson Genesis Series

Chronicle One:

_**The Last Moments of Innocence**_

_Part 5_

Batman concealed himself in the shadows above the annexed dressing room where most of the performers were collected. The police stationed at the circus had arrived on the scene immediately. Within three minutes Detective Ellison was in the centre of the Big Top and had taking charge.

While all was clearly well in hand, Batman frowned. He'd hoped Gordon would take the case but with the captain's new responsibilities for investigating the deaths of mob witnesses in protection, it was unlikely.

Batman rolled back his glove to check his watch. It had been six minutes since the Graysons had fallen. The trail was hot but was growing colder by the second. If this hadn't been an accident, those responsible were getting away.

The vigilante adjusted the audio amplifier in his cowl to target Ellison's voice. The detective was directly below and speaking to the distraught owner of the circus.

"_So what sort of kid is he?"_

"_Dick says he saw Zucco. I believe him. Tony Zucco is responsible for this. I should have... I..."_

"_Does the boy know his parents are dead?" __Ellison asked._

"_No. I... I don't know how to tell him. He wants to see them. I keep telling him the doctor is with them but he isn't stupid."_

"_The child trusts you?"_

"_Yes, he's like a grandson to me."_

"_So he'll believe you if you tell him his parents are alive?"_

"_What? No. I won't lie to him."_

"_Mr. Haly, the moment that kid knows his parents are dead we won't get anything sensible out of him. If he's a witness to what happened, I need to get everything he saw. I need you to convince him his parents are going to be fine so he can think clearly. Tell him they suffered nothing more than a few cuts, bruises and broken bones and he can see them as soon as the doctor finishes with them."_

"_I... Dick isn't stupid. He knows that a fall like that..."_

"_Then say what you have to. Tell him the ground was specially padded... Tell him God saved them. Tell him anything but make him believe you."_

"_He... he believes his protection symbol protects him when he flies. It's a belief passed down from John's family."_

"_Then tell him his parents' protection thingys protected them. Look, I know this is hard, but it is the only way, Mr. Haly. The boy will understand the reason for your deception later. You want this man to pay for what he did? The boy may hold the key."_

Batman frowned. He didn't like such tactics. However, Ellison was doing what he had to. Once the child knew he'd witnessed his parents' murder his life would change forever.

A darkness crept over Batman. Instantly, he pushed his bubbling emotions back. If he was to seek justice for the child, he had to keep a clear head.

The vigilante glanced toward the boy but couldn't see him. He was surrounded by those who cared. If Dick Grayson was indeed a witness, Batman needed to talk to him but that was impossible here. He'd have to bide his time and be content with questioning a few of the roustabouts and performers for now.

OOOOO

Gordon flashed his badge as a matter of habit, despite recognizing the young officer. "Where's Detective Ellison?"

"I'm not sure, Sir. Sergeant Bullock is inside the tent conducting interviews."

Gordon nodded. He'd been heading home when he'd heard of the circus tragedy on the radio. He knew a lot of high profile people were in attendance and had decided to see if there was anything he could do to help.

Gordon glanced back over his shoulder at the crowds of people looking shocked… and at the media 'circus' going crazy snapping photos. They were all witnesses and by the look of it were being held until they could be interviewed. It was going to be a long night for Ellison and his team.

The police captain entered the tent and spotted Bullock trying to calm a hysterical woman. Bullock was well named. He was only a few years younger than Gordon but was built like a brick chicken house. He was square-jawed, square-shouldered and his personality was delightfully square. A good man - one of few on the force Gordon actually trusted. At the moment it was difficult to know who a cop could trust his life with. The mob had infiltrated every section of the city, the force included. It hadn't always been that way. When Gordon had first joined the force, Gotham's boys in the blue had been the best in the country.

Bullock looked up, excused himself, leaving the shrieking woman in the hands of another officer. "Sir, are you taking over the case?"

Gordon shook his head, his eyes drifting to the main ring where he spotted two human-sized lumps covered with sheets. "Heard it on the radio. What can you tell me?"

Bullock scratched his stubbled chin. "We've got a whole heap of celebrates who've been inconvenienced. A whole heap of media who want a story… and see that broad squealing over there, she says Bruce Wayne is here but she can't find him and he's afraid of the dark." Bullock rolled his eyes. "Where do these nutters come from?"

Gordon smiled. "And the crime?"

"Husband and wife trapeze artists fell to their deaths when the trapeze fell apart."

"Any sign of foul play?"

Bullock shrugged. "According to our boys the most likely reason the trapeze fell was because the two nuts holding things in place came loose or were missing. The guy responsible for the rigging swears the nuts were new and everything was in place. Apparently as part of their safety procedures, two other guys independently checked it and they say everything was right. Still, these circus people are a bit of a closed crowd. They'd probably cover for each other."

Gordon pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Maybe."

Bullock lowered his voice. "Captain, according to some of the circus people I've spoken to, they've been already been interviewed... by Batman. Could just be crap, but... Why would he be interested?"

"You and I both know Batman doesn't exist. The commissioner says so," Gordon muttered.

Bullock snorted. "The police commissioner wouldn't know the truth if you shoved it up his ass and lit it on fire."

Gordon grinned. "So, no witnesses?"

"A whole tent full. About 500 people witnessed the victims fall, including our illustrious Mayor."

"No, I meant to anyone tampering with the trapeze. If it isn't an accident and the trapeze was intact, stands to reason it was tampered with."

Bullock's face blanketed with discomfort. "Apparently the deceased's kid saw the circus owner threatened and swears he saw the same guy exit the tent just before the show started."

"Kid?"

"A little fella. He saw his parents..."

Gordon grimaced. "Where is he?"

Bullock inclined his head toward an annexed area. "Ellison's interviewing him and some of the other performers. Sir, I think..."

Gordon's phone buzzed. He pulled out the cell and peered at the screen.

"_**Animal enclosures. 5 mins. Bring the boy."**_ Accompanying the text was the Bat symbol.

"Bullock, where are the animal enclosures?"

"Hey, where are the animal enclosures?" the sergeant yelled to one of the roustabouts waiting to be interviewed.

"Far end behind the fence."

Gordon nodded his thanks and went in search of the boy. He had no intention of taking him to meet Batman but he needed to gather some information for the vigilante. His relationship with Batman was a two way street. He didn't know why the likes of Batman would be interested in something like this. Jim snorted. What a stupid thought. Why would a man dressed as a bat be interested in anything?

As Gordon entered the dressing room annex, he took the scene in. The circus performers were collected in one group, in the centre of which was a dark-haired boy. Every person shared the same look of stunned horror. The child's face was stained with tear tracks but he was talking to those around him, his eyes alive, his expression defiant, and if Gordon wasn't mistaken, he looked relieved. Not at all what he'd expected.

The officer near Ellison tapped his shoulder and Ellison looked up. Spotting Gordon he excused himself. "Jim, what brings you here?"

"Was just passing. How's the boy?"

Ellison shrugged. "It took some fast talking but I convinced Haly to assure him his parents will be fine. It worked."

Gordon screwed up his face distastefully. That explained the look of relief on the child's face.

"I don't like it either but it was the only way I was going to get anything out of him."

"He'll need to be told."

Ellison cursed softly. "Yeah, but we'll wait until we've cleared this place. I thought telling parents their kids had been killed was hard. Telling a kid his parents are dead... that's a new low for me."

Gordon patted the other man's back. Only a few months earlier he'd had to inform his niece her parents were dead. It wasn't something he'd wish on his worst enemy.

Ellison flashed Gordon a look of thanks. "The boy's adamant he saw a guy called Tony Zucco come out of the tent as he and his parents came in to prepare for their act."

"Zucco. I know that name," Gordon murmured.

"He has a rap sheet a mile long. Petty theft, that sort of thing. Seems he's graduated to a protection racket."

"So the boy's a witness."

Ellison turned to study the child who was repeating his story to those around him. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. Kid knows this Zucco threatened the circus. He needs someone to blame."

"So he's lying?" Gordon pressed.

"No, I think he's just a kid who's putting two and two together and ending up with something that approximates four. Hell, he's younger than my girls. I can't imagine... if they had... "

"I know what you mean."

"He has no one, Jim. According to Haly, there isn't any other family."

Gordon grimaced. That would mean social services, orphanages and foster care. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Thought I heard on the radio you had your hands full with the mob and witness protection debacle."

Gordon smirked. "I heard that on the radio too. If there's anything I can do, let me know. You don't mind if I ferret around while I'm here?"

"Be my guest."

OOOOO

Gordon passed through the gate splitting the circus town in half. There was limited light in this section and the roar of voices from the crowd of witnesses was dulled by distance. The police captain wondered how Batman had known he was here... or how the vigilante had arrived so quickly himself.

To Gordon's left, the shadows moved... merged... and then took shape. Batman materialized out of the darkness like some supernatural being, his long strides almost completely soundless, his cape swirling behind him.

"Batman." Gordon offered his hand which the vigilante accepted. "You got here quickly."

"Tony Zucco threatened the circus owner this afternoon. Was witnessed by the Graysons' son. From what I've been told he saw Zucco exit the tent this evening. I need to speak to this witness."

Gordon shifted uncomfortably. "He's very young. I've spoken to the detective in charge. He believes the boy has convinced himself it's Zucco because he saw Zucco threaten Haly. In the kid's mind it has to have been Zucco so he 'saw' him in the tent. He's a child, Batman. His ability to separate fantasy and reality isn't as developed as adults. I know. I have kids of my own. Kids see things in black and white. Zucco is a bad guy therefore he is responsible for this bad thing. "

"You're certain this is just a case of the mind creating a solution?" Batman's voice had a strange quality. It was so deep and authoritative, yet soft. In some ways, barely above a whisper yet, so penetrating it almost echoed.

"No, I can't be certain," Gordon admitted.

"I can be, using a simple memory technique. Bring him to me. Let me check."

"With all due respect, he's just witnessed his parents fall to their deaths. Seeing you will only scare him."

"No. He's seen the worst thing he'll ever see in his life. Nothing will ever truly scare him again."

Gordon blinked. What a strange statement. He stared into the other man's eyes. There was fire in them. Anger, determination... it was hard to put his finger on exactly what the emotion was. What was clear was passion. Gordon saw it every time he met Batman. He was a man driven by something powerful. "Look, I..."

"Captain, I know the boy believes his parents to be not only alive, but that they will be fine. I _need_ to speak to him before he learns the truth. We must determine if he is truly a witness or simply a traumatised child. The sooner we can, the more likely we are to catch those responsible and the quicker this boy can be surrounded by extended family so he can deal with his grief."

Gordon licked his lips. "I..." He didn't like it, but he owed Batman. He owed Batman a great deal and he did trust the man. "All right, but if the child shows any fear, you're to disappear. Agreed? I won't allow you to traumatise the boy."

Batman's chin bobbed once.

OOOOO

Batman waited as Gordon led the child toward him. His heart-rate increased. Years of training had enabled him to control his emotions, but this was all too close to home. He had walked in this child's shoes. His own tragedy had birthed the vigilante that now consumed his life.

The little boy's eyes were wide, his pupils dilated. Clearly he was in deep shock but there was an inner strength there as well - the strength of believing the two rocks in his life were still alive.

Batman's heart twisted. It was wrong. The child deserved to know the truth but if Batman was to achieve justice for the Graysons, he needed to preserve Ellison's deception.

"Dick, this is...um... this is Detective Batman. He is going to ask you some questions. Is that okay?" Gordon asked, crouching so he was level with the child. "There is nothing to be afraid of."

Dick gradually tilted his head back, staring up at Batman. Batman waited for the reaction he received from every living being when they first met him, but it didn't eventuate. The child looked surprised and curious, not afraid. "Why are you wearing a costume?"

Batman felt a bolt of admiration. This boy was the first who had ever seen him for what he really was - a man in a costume. Others saw a creature of the night, some sort of supernatural demon – exactly the perception Batman worked hard to cultivate. However, make-up and costumes were a part of this boy's world. He had an intimate understanding of make-believe and performance. When the costumes came off, all that was left was a human being. Thank goodness Gotham's underworld didn't see things as this boy did.

"I am told you saw someone threaten the circus owner."

The child nodded and his eyes flashed with anger. "Tony Zucco. He threatened Pop and Pop threw him out. He was..."

"Enough," Batman ordered. The child jumped, startled. "I'm not interested in your hysterics. I want you to give me only the facts. Do you understand?"

The boy titled his head to the side in confusion. Batman was surprised. There was still no sign of alarm. The child didn't scare easily. He was brave but such courage was likely drawn from the security he had in his life. That would be shattered the moment he learned the truth about his parents.

Gordon patted the child's shoulder. "Batman, ease up."

Batman stepped closer and stared down on the child from his great height. "You want the people who hurt your family to pay for what they did. So do I, but I need your help. Tell me exactly what you saw when this man exited the tent, Dick - the facts only."

The child's brow furrowed and he looked down and to the right. Batman's heart lifted. Looking to the left would have indicated creation and thus lies. Looking to the right showed the boy was trying to recall a memory. He was telling the truth. He had seen Zucco.

"You need to concentrate hard. Empty your mind of everything but that man. Close your eyes and picture the man you saw."

Dick glanced at Gordon who nodded and then the child looked up at Batman for a few seconds before closing his eyes.

"Picture the man. Think of nothing else. Look at him in your mind. Can you see him?"

"Yes," Dick whispered.

"Look at his face... look at what he is wearing... Open your eyes! Describe him. Don't think, just describe."

"He was wearing old clothes... not the suit he wore when he threatened Pop. He had an old cap on."

Batman glanced at Gordon. "Go on, son. What else can you tell me?"

"He was wearing a tool belt... he had a handkerchief tied around his hand. It was blue."

"Why did you look at him?" Batman asked.

"Because Cazos aren't meant to be in the Big Top once the chairs have been set out."

"Cazos?"

"Casual workers. Only performers are allowed after 4:00. He saw me and I saw him."

"You recognized him?"

"Uh-huh. And he recognized me. I could tell. He was angry with me."

"You're sure it was him?" Batman checked, deliberately raising the volume and depth of his voice.

The child held the vigilante's stare without flinching, earning more of Batman's respect. "I recognized him. He wears perfume like my mum. I smelt it outside Pop's trailer and I smelt it when I saw him coming out of the tent. It was him."

"Did he say anything?" Gordon asked.

Dick shook his head. "But I saw him."

"And he knew you saw him?" Batman clarified.

The boy nodded.

"Thank you. I believe you," Batman stated quietly.

"I told my dad and he started to chase him, but my mom said we had to get ready and..." Tears welled in Dick's eyes and then began to trickle down his cheeks. "My mom and dad are okay. Pop said they're hurt but they're going to be okay. It was a big fall but their bird protectors protected them. Dad said they would. He was right."

Gordon patted the boy's back.

"Can I see them now? Please. Pop said I could as soon as the doctor finished checking them."

"I'll take you back now," Gordon stated, shepherding Dick toward the gate.

A lump swelled in Batman's throat. He had great respect for this little boy and his heart bled for him. "Dick." The child glanced back. "I give you my word, Zucco will pay for what he did."

Dick nodded and whispered, "Thank you."

Gordon opened the gate. Batman spotted Sergeant Bullock waiting on the other side. Bullock was a straight shooter.

"So, Batman doesn't exist, huh?" Bullock growled at Gordon.

"I won't be a moment," Gordon ordered, spinning around and returning to Batman. He lowered his voice. "You believe him?"

"Yes."

Gordon scowled unhappily. "So do I. Damn it. He's just a boy. A boy who believes gypsy protection birds saved his parents' lives."

"He's a witness and if Zucco knows the boy saw him, his life may well be in danger."

Gordon ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah."

"See if you can pick up Zucco and check his hand. Look for some sort of injury. And have all of the circus people check to see if anyone is missing a tool belt. Zucco may have stolen one." Batman's thoughts returned to Dick. "So what happens to the boy now?"

"Witness protection."

Batman grunted with dissatisfaction. "Not the safest place."

"He'll be fine. Only mob witnesses are in danger and this doesn't have anything to do with the mob," Gordon declared.

"Zucco is the nephew of Anthony Thelmann and Thelmann is a mob heavyweight."

Gordon's eyes widened.

"You must take over this case or this boy will die," Batman stated.

Gordon shook his head slowly. "This morning he woke up and all was right with his world and now..." Gordon peered through the darkness to where Bullock was crouched speaking to Dick. "Apparently he doesn't any other family. Just the circus people and there's no way they'll be granted custody after this is cleared up. He's alone in the world. He's going to end up in the system."

The words struck Batman like physical blows. He'd assumed the child would have extended family. Someone to love him. It hadn't occurred to him that... The fire of rage ignited.

Gordon rejoined Bullock and the boy. As the moved off, the child paused and glanced back at Batman briefly before disappearing with Gordon.

The chords in Batman's neck swelled and stuck out, fuelled by the burning ache in his soul. He hadn't just failed to protect the Graysons, he'd allowed another child to be left without family. He'd sworn to himself he wouldn't allow this to happen to anyone else. Bruce Wayne's own hellish life of grief, nightmares and loneliness had begun for another.

Batman balled his hands into fists. The agony of his failure and of the pain he felt at that moment was overwhelming. Flashes of the night his parents died entered his mind transposed with memories of the young trapeze artist smiling with the purest of joy. Bruce Wayne knew the child would never smile like that again. He had just witnessed the last moments of the child's innocence.

"I _swear_ on my parent's graves, I will get justice for you Dick Grayson... and I promise you will NOT face this alone. I will not fail you again!"

* * *

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed my interpretation of these initial moments in Bruce and Dick's journey. Chronicle Two is planned. Now I just need to find time to write it. :)


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